


Ikea

by phantomunmasked



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, IKEA, anyway enjoy i guess, i came up with this at - surprise surprise, just a wee bit of fluff really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:45:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomunmasked/pseuds/phantomunmasked
Summary: Serena Campbell takes Bernie Wolfe to Ikea because really, a grown woman like Bernie should know better.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Quite apart from gifting us with our favourite bean counting beanpole, Sweden has also blessed us with everyone's favourite furniture store. 
> 
> (anyone who looks down on Ikea furniture can fight me, because I rather like the notion of having affordable, functional furniture)
> 
> So here we go. Something inspired by many happy hours spent careening around my local mega-sized Ikea. This isn't really a drabble or a fic, more like a fic equivalent of a quick sketch. Hope it'll do. It's not much, but I wanted to get it out there.
> 
> p.s. Thanks to @moandkatelive on Tumblr for giving this a quick once over wayyyy back when I wrote this (must have been a couple of months ago now). 
> 
> This is completely un-betaed, so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone!

Serena drags Bernie to Ikea to furnish the flat she’s holed up in during the divorce.   
  
It happens quite naturally, really. One soggy Friday afternoon, she drops by Bernie’s newfound flat to pass her some patient notes for a case study she was planning on doing. She expects Bernie to invite her in, for a quick cup of tea and a chat (surely it wasn’t too much to expect basic courtesy from a friend?)   


And so she immediately grows suspicious when Bernie effectively barricades the open door with her body. Serena raises an eyebrow and cranes her neck, peering past the mess of blonde curls to look into Bernie’s flat.   


“Am I interrupting something?” She murmurs, cheeky smirk firmly in place.

  
“What? No! No no! I just uh- “  
  
  
Bernie really _is_  adorable when she gets flustered, Serena muses, even as she ensures her eyebrow remains firmly arched. Still. Best to build up a resistance to the cuteness.

She folds her arms, stares Bernie down.  


“Sorry, I just…”

  
“Oh, for goodness sake, Bernie. I’ve seen the state you left my office in, how bad can it be?”

  
And with that, pushes right past her colleague, shoves the files into Bernie’s arms and steps into the cramped hallway of Bernie’s tiny, tiny flat.

  
Serena takes a quick glance around, hums in consideration as she takes it all in.   
  
The tiny space is essentially a loft. A sofa bed, tucked against one wall (unfolded, sheets messy and pillows haphazardly strewn); a single table under the single window, a large oak bureau (oddly out of place in the sparsely furnished flat) against an opposite wall.

The bureau is open, and Serena can see Bernie’s laptop, her scattered notes and a small picture frame with two dark-haired youths smiling out at the world. There is a wardrobe in the corner and Serena hides a smirk at the crumpled clothes spilling out its partially closed door. The only other door in the room is slightly ajar and Serena spots the gleam of a mirror, the shadow of a laundry basket fairly overflowing with clothes. 

  
She spins about, taking in Bernie’s sheepish visage, eyes flicking quickly to the large army issue duffle bag lurking behind the front door.   


“It’s...It’s a bit of a mess,” Bernie mutters, one hand shoved deep in a back pocket, the other rubbing the back of her neck as she studies the floor. 

  
Serena says nothing, merely offers up another small hum of consideration as she wanders into the small ktichenette. It is small and suspiciously free of dirty crockery. Serena wonders why, until her foot nudges an overflowing bin full of takeout containers and pizza boxes stacked neatly by its side.

 

She cannot help but stare.

 

Bernie Wolfe was, in essence, the embodiment of teenage living habits.

 

Serena doesn’t say a word, only raises her other eyebrow in scepticism and at Bernie's fierce blush as she wanders back through the open space, gingerly perches on Bernie’s rumpled sofa bed.   
  
  
“Well, no wonder your back’s giving you the gyp, then, this bed feels and looks as comfortable as a bed of nails,” she drawls, dryly.

 

“Serena, I -”

 

“No no,” Serena mutters as she heaves herself upright, ambles across the length of the room to snatch up the army duffle.

 

“Pack a bag. You’re staying at mine until we get this place sorted. Come on. No arguments, on the double, please.”

 

She drops the bag at Bernie’s feet, nudges it towards the wardrobe with her foot and looks expectantly at Bernie. Bernie scowls, but knows better and that Serena would not budge. And so she hastily tugs her wardrobe open and starts pulling a week’s worth of clothes out, blushing even deeper as she shoves a couple of thongs into the bag.

 

“My my, Ms Wolfe, I never had you down as the type,” Serena murmurs, and Bernie glances at her, tries not to notice the slight flush creeping up Serena’s chest and neck and the (almost) predatory gleam in her eye.

 

“I haven’t had the chance to do my laundry yet this week,” she mutters, and tosses in her sleep shorts and a baggy RAMC t-shirt, a couple of socks.

 

Serena says nothing, only shakes her head and spins on her heel to step into the kitchenette.

 

Bernie scowls at her back and continues throwing things haphazardly into the duffle, ducking into her tiny bathroom to retrieve her toothbrush. A quick muttered run through of her essential needs as she roots through her bag and Bernie decides she is ready, zipping it up with a triumphant flourish.

 

“Done?” Serena stands by the front door, bag of rubbish and a pile of recycling by her feet.

  
With a final look around the flat Bernie grabs her coat and handbag off the back of the chair.

 

“Yeah. Sorry - here, take this, let me get that,” Bernie murmurs as she thrusts the duffel bag at Serena, scoops up the rubbish and recycling, bounds out the door in a swish of pale cashmere. 

  
Forgetting completely, of course, the need to lock the door behind her.

  
(Or, indeed, that Serena was still in her flat)  


Serena shakes her head and sighs, shoulders the duffle as she scoops up the bunch of keys she spies on the bureau. 

  
"Worse than Elinor," she grumbles, as she wrestles with the door, finally pulling it shut with a grunt. She shakes her fringe out her eyes with a huff and trudges down the hallway, fingers gripping the rough straps on her shoulder.

 

Truly, it was astounding that Bernie was 51 and not 15. 

 

When they get to Serena’s, she gives Bernie Elinor’s old room to sleep in. They fall into an easy enough routine for the rest of the week, an unexpectedly easy domesticity surrounding them. The weekend rolls around, and Serena makes an outing of it, packs Jason and Bernie into her car (really, the more practical option, because who goes to Ikea in a 2 seater Mazda MX-5?) and declares they will not leave Ikea, horrifying though that may be, until she is satisfied Bernie has everything Serena thinks she needs.

  
(She had, of course, already compiled a list of things to purchase after her cursory visit to Bernie’s flat.)

 

And so the three of them spend the day careening around IKEA, Jason giving surprisingly practical advice and Serena declaring that Bernie needs “a decent bed, and not just for your sake; think about any overnight guests that might...drop in,” and the way Serena’s voice dips half an octave as she says that runs a shiver up Bernie’s spine and a flush down her chest.

  
Eventually, after several heated arguments about the need for matching crockery and new dishtowels ("no, raggedy old t-shirts do not good dishtowels make"; "it's recycling!") Serena declares that they have completed their mission for the day, and she takes them all to their usual chippy for a scheduled fish and chips treat. 

  
  
Later that night, when Jason has gone to bed and Bernie and Serena are lounging on the sofa watching University Challenge (Bernie’s acing it, the swot, and she explains that that’s how they passed their time in the field back in the day, learning useless trivia), Serena looks at Bernie out the corner of her eye and makes a decision.

 

“Bernie?”  
  
“Mmm?”   
  
"D’you...D'you..."

  
Serena takes a deep breath, fiddles with her necklace. 

Bernie smiles, cocks her head in that beautifully endearing way of hers in question and Serena melts, folds her hands in her lap.   


"Bernie. I want you to leave a couple of sets of clothes here.”  
  
“...What?”  
  
“Hear me out.”

 

Serena swallows, turns to face Bernie fully.

 

“I know this may sound presumptuous, so feel free to tell me to go boil my head later if you like, but please - hear me out first?”  


A hesitant nod.

  
Serena takes yet another deep breath, plows right on.

 

“When I was going through my divorce...I had a real tough time of it. Elinor went to live with my mother because she couldn’t stand either of us and refused to speak to me for _months_. Edward didn't make my life easy either, because he was - _is_ \- a sanctimonious ass. And I found it… hard to cope, living on my own for all those months. It wasn’t easy.”

 

“Serena…”

  
“It can’t be any easier for you, especially not with Marcus getting the kids to write those statements about you. I wouldn't have been so worried if I knew Alex were around for you to lean on, but…”

 

Bernie lets out a harsh bark of humourless laughter.

 

“But after the woman who declared that I was the love of her life and her soulmate decided to go AWOL on me, you think you need to fill that gap?”

 

A shocked silence, as both women realised the implications of Bernie’s words.

 

“Oh Serena no, I didn’t mean-”  


“No, I just meant-”  


An awkward pause.

  
“...”   


“What I _meant_ was - you seem like you needed a friend to lean on. And i’m offering. First port of call, remember?”   
  
  
Serena offers up a tremulous smile, tries to ignore her racing heart as her eyes search Bernie’s face. Those familiar eyes close, briefly, and when they flutter open again, Serena reaches out to take Bernie’s hand.

 

She has her answer.

 

“Thank you,” Bernie whispers, squeezing Serena’s hand.

 

Serena smiles again and tugs them both up, folds Bernie into a hug.

 

“You’re welcome,” she murmurs into Bernie’s shoulder, traces a thumb absently along the ridges of her spine.

 

The air hangs heavy with the unspoken between them, and neither of them quite have it in them to face those demons.

  
Let sleeping dogs lie.  
  
  
Together, they’ll figure things out.

 


End file.
